Sweet Collateral

by LP Lovell

  “I want revenge on the men who enslaved me,” I say, and the corner of her lip pulls into a slow smile. She looks like some kind of dark angel. The face of perfection with death on her lips, whispering sweet promises of retribution.

  “Good. I had a feeling you’d get here eventually.”

  “How?”

  “Because though we may be different, we’re very much the same. I would want them dead, the same way I wanted Nicholai dead.”

  I nod, and for the first time in a long time, the storm within me calms a little.

  59

  Anna

  Two months later

  Darkness surrounds me, and I inhale a deep breath of the fresh night air. Ahead of me, the perfectly-manicured lawns are illuminated by the light spilling from the enormous windows of the mansion. Inside, smatterings of light glitter over the walls, reflected by the crystal chandeliers.

  It looks so grand and perfect. Shiny. But I know the truth because inside that house are horrors that play a starring role in my nightmares every night, even after all these years.

  A guard walks the perimeter literally meters away but hidden by the darkness, it’s as though we don’t exist. I have to glance to my left to check Una is still there, she’s so utterly silent. She can melt into the darkness like a shadow—so still, you’d never know she was there until it was too late.

  She breaks cover, and I follow her, sprinting across the length of the lawn. We drop to a crouch in the shadow of the enormous house. The number of times Una has made me recite this plan, I feel as though I could walk through it in my sleep. It’s second nature to her, an everyday occurrence, but truthfully, I’m nervous. My pulse pounds erratically against my ears as adrenaline surges through my veins. I spent years trying to escape this place, and now I’m breaking back in. If we fail…if we get caught… I don’t even want to think about what will happen to me, or my sister.

  As if sensing my thoughts, Una reaches behind her, wrapping her fingers around my wrist and tugging me tight to her back. She glances down at her watch, counting down the seconds for a gap in the security. There’s the click of the lock turning over as she picks it, and then the old-fashioned window gently creaks open. Una slips silently through. I take a deep breath, digging deep within myself for courage before I follow her, and there’s no going back. The weight of the moment presses in on me because I know this a crossroads between the girl I am and the woman I could be if I do this.

  Una pulls the window closed and moves away down the corridor without looking back. I mimic her footsteps exactly. The security isn’t that tight. It wasn’t designed to keep people out. It’s to keep people in.

  I follow her through the house, ducking into doorways and hiding from the occasional guard in the corridors. Finally, we reach the top floor, and as I get to the top of the stairs, my breath seizes in my chest. At the end of the hallway is a set of double doors, and the sight of them is branded into my mind, gripping me with fear. Behind those doors is my own personal hell.

  Una strides forward like death personified, not a trace of hesitation to be found. When she reaches the doors, she turns and cocks a brow at me. Seconds pass, and she doesn’t move. She’s waiting for me to make the decision because this is for me. Not her. Una is the assassin, but this is my kill, and we both know it. I need to do this. I know it down to the fragmented depths of my soul.

  With every step I take towards her, my heart beats harder, thrumming against my ribcage. Vile memories blink through my mind like a faulty film reel, depicting all the times before that I was lead to this exact door. Una slips a gun from a thigh holster, screwing a silencer to the end. I expect her to walk straight in there, but instead, she places the gun in my hand then drops to one knee and picks the lock. Then she takes a knife from her other thigh and silently pushes the door handle down.

  The distinctive scent of wood polish and cologne hits me as soon as the door opens. The room is illuminated by the dim light of the bedside lamps, bathing everything in a soft glow. At first glance, the room looks lavish, but all I see is a torture chamber. It hasn’t changed one bit from when I was last here, six years ago. I still remember that last time because it was the worst, the parting gift The Master gave me before he sold me to the Sinaloa like unwanted cattle.

  The sound of the shower running can be heard through the en-suite door, and the anticipation is eating away at me, waiting for him to step out here.

  Stepping inside, I round the bottom of the monstrous four-poster bed and still. There, lying on her side on the floor is a girl- and she is just a girl- naked and bleeding. I rush to her, all thoughts of the mission, or the kill temporarily forgotten. Haunted sapphire eyes meet mine through the curtain of golden blonde hair hanging in her face. That singular look drags me right back to that place, this place. I feel her pain, her sorrow, and her absolute desolation. We share it because what’s hers is mine and what’s mine is hers. We are both two lost souls that the world forgot about and abandoned. My eyes drop to the gold collar fastened around her throat, blood tainting the metal as it cuts into her neck. I know well what it means. It marks her as his favorite. Just like I was. To be his favorite is to live a fate worse than death. She’s chained to the bed frame by the collar around her neck, the chain only a few inches long. When I brush hair away from her face, she flinches, and it’s then that I really see just how young she is. Thirteen maybe. Her body is covered in scars, some I recognize all too well, and some that must be a new form of torture he’s devised.

  “She’s just a child,” Una whispers from somewhere behind me.

  I glance at my sister. “Yes.”

  Her jaw ticks and I see a rare hint of emotion from Una before she slowly stands. “We have to take care of him. You need to focus,” she says, her eyes tracing over the girls trembling form. I know she’s right. One thing at a time. I want to help this girl, but I can’t do that while he still breathes.

  I move to stand near Una, next to the bathroom door. “You can do this, Anna.”

  “What if I can’t?” I whisper. This is like facing the monster under the bed, confronting all your worst and most debilitating fears, but as I glance at the abused girl, I know this isn’t just about me.

  Una lifts her face, the curtain of white-blonde hair falling away to reveal those violet eyes. “You can and you will.”

  The shower cuts off and Una shifts, placing herself beside the doorway to the bathroom. She takes what looks like a piece of string and clutches it in her fist. Her eyes lock with mine and time seems to stand still as the doorknob twists, steam billowing through the gap and temporarily blurring the figure in the doorway. And then the steam clears, revealing the monster himself. Alexandru Dalca. Even thinking his real name has me nervously cringing. The Master. He will always be The Master, no matter how much I know that this man deserves no such respect or subservience from me.

  He stills, and I lift the gun in my hand. It trembles as I point it at him, and he narrows those cold blue eyes on me. He looks older and yet just as I remember.

  “Amado,” he breathes, and I freeze. My mind blanks, my tongue feels thick in my mouth, and my lungs seize until I feel as though I’m voluntarily drowning. He takes a step towards me, and then Una moves, shifting behind him and pulling what I thought was string across the front of his throat, but as it bites into his skin, I realize its wire. A thin red line wells instantly, pooling down his neck.

  “I suggest you take a seat, Mr. Dalca,” she says against his ear. His back bows awkwardly as he tries to relieve the pressure of the wire. Una forces him to the floor at the head of the bed before wrapping the wire around the bedpost, imprisoning him by the neck. Just like he did to that girl. If he tries to move, he’ll slice his own throat. The blood continues to run, a fresh wave coming with each tiny movement. The sight of it brings a small sense of satisfaction.

  Una moves in front of him, her body uncharacteristically tense. His eyes trace over her before shifting to me. “I thought you would be dead
by now,” he says, his body language and voice betraying none of the discomfort I know he must feel. He knows what he did to me. He has to know he’s going to die.

  “Well, unfortunately for you, I’m not.”

  A smile quirks the corner of his lips. “So, what is it you want?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Una moves, lightning fast, gripping a handful of his hair and wrenching his head back and bringing her face only inches from his. “There is no want here. This is simple justice.” She flicks her eyes over him, a sneer pulling at her lips. “I’ve dealt with some monsters in my time, but you, Mr. Dalca… fucking and hurting little girls…there’s a special place in hell for men like you.” Gripping his chin, she places her lips to his forehead and the image is so strange that I can’t quite process it until he starts screaming that is. I drop my gaze to her free hand, which is planted between his legs, beneath his towel. A red stain blossoms across the pristine white material, growing bigger by the second. When my sister pulls her hand away, I see the bloodied knife clutched in her fingers. Did she just…castrate him? She pats his cheek and stands. “He’s all yours, Anna.” This isn’t like her. She doesn’t do uncontrolled or messy. Her gaze meets mine, and I see the turmoil swirling in those violet irises. She’s fighting demons every bit as much as I am right now. “You only get to take revenge once. Make it good.” She isn’t going to do this for me. She made that clear when we agreed to come here. This is my past, my vendetta, and my demon to slay.

  My emotions are all over the place because although I should be in a position of power right now, I feel weak, fragile, and broken. And angry. I’m so angry because he renders me powerless. Years of the most manipulative abuse have ingrained this fear of him into me. Tell me you love me, Amado. The memory of those words has bile rising in my throat.

  I have nothing to say to him, and yet I think I want him to say something to me. I need…something. “You ruined my life,” I tell him because I want this monster to know.

  “No, I saved your life.” His head rolls to the side, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again. “You’d be dead if I’d left you with the Russians.”

  “I’d rather have died,” I choke unable to hold back tears as I recall every disgusting, degrading thing he used to do to me. I remember the face of every girl I watched die within these walls. The memories are branded on my soul: permanent and irreversible. And yet, here he is, just doing it to another girl.

  “Yet here you stand, alive, and trying to kill me.”

  The disgust festers in my gut until it turns to hatred, and hatred turns into a rage so hot, I can barely contain it. “There’s no trying about it.”

  I lift the gun, flicking the safety off. My emotions swirl together in a chaotic tornado, spinning faster and faster until everything is a messy blur inside me. The last thing I see is that smug smile on his lips before I pull the trigger, waiting for the bang that never comes. Instead, a distinct pop greets my ears before a perfect red dot appears on his forehead. His eyes go wide and glassy before he topples forward, slicing his own throat wide open. Blood splatters against his thighs like a waterfall cascading over the edge of a cliff. I release the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. I don’t know what I expected to feel—a sense of relief maybe? Instead, I’m even angrier because in that final moment, he didn’t regret it. There was no remorse, no fear. Nothing. Whatever I hoped to achieve from this is absent, and the disappointment is a tough pill to swallow.

  “You did what you came to do,” Una steps in front of me and takes the gun, sliding it back into its holster. I did, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Opening the bedside drawer, I feel around for the key that he always used to keep in here. Finally, my fingers brush over the tiny object, and I take it out, rushing to the young girl’s side. The key slides easily into the small padlock at the back of her neck, and the solid gold collar releases. She blinks at me, big blue eyes glassy with unshed tears and yet completely devoid of anything.

  “My name is Anna. This is my sister, Una. We’re going to help you.”

  Una grabs my arm and drags me to my feet. “This isn’t what we agreed.”

  “We have to help them.”

  “We have a plan. We ran through it. I told you, this is an assassination, not a rescue mission. There are still a lot of armed men in this house.”

  “Exactly, we’ll be leaving her and god knows how many others to them. They’ll be sold and raped.” She closes her eyes and inhales a deep breath. “I won’t abandon them the same way I was.”

  I know it’s a low blow that she’ll take personally, but I don’t care. She wanted me to have purpose—well this is it. If I can help these girls, that will be all the purpose I need. A fire, unlike any I’ve ever felt tears through my veins, giving me a steely determination.

  “Fine. We take her.”

  “No.” I help the girl to her feet. “We help them all.” Una spits a curse and paces the length of the room. “How many others are here?” I ask the girl in Romanian.

  “Eight,” she says quietly.

  With a resigned sigh, Una hands me back the gun as she takes her own gun in hand.

  “You go for them, I’ll hold the guards off. You have less than five minutes, Anna.”

  With that she disappears. The young girl helps me to the basement, a route I know like the back of my hand. It doesn’t take long to unlock the cages and free the girls there, the keys being hung on the wall. Some are obviously new and need very little persuasion, while others think it’s a trick. Eventually I wrangle them through the house.

  The girls huddle together like a flock of sheep as they follow. All except one. The blonde. She hangs back, her shoulders just a little more upright, her head a little higher. Even here, in this place, a small smile touches my lips. She’s not broken. Collared, beaten, damaged maybe, but not shattered. She’s strong. And it’s that strength that drew him to her because Alexandru doesn’t like broken things. He likes to be the one that breaks them.

  The distant sound of gunshots rings through the house as we move and my heart skitters in my chest as I imagine my sister being fired at, completely outnumbered. The hallways are quiet and littered with fallen men. We step over the felled bodies until we reach the front door. I jump at the sound of a gunshot nearby. I lift my gun, finger hovering over the trigger as I aim at a darkened doorway. My heart beats so hard it feels like it’ll tear out of my chest, and then Una appears from the shadows. I breathe a sigh of relief and lower the gun.

  “You’re okay.”

  She frowns as though my concern confounds her. “Of course.” She removes the clip from her gun, replacing it with another. “We’re going to have to shoot our way out.” Any premise of a subtle exit is long gone. The plan is out of the window, and now we’re just hoping for the best. “Cover me, Anna.”

  And then she steps through the front door. The girls follow her, and I take up the rear. Bullets fly left and right. Una’s focused on two guys in front of her when I spot a guy aiming a pistol at her. I point my gun at his head and shoot. With that small pop, he drops and hits the ground. I have the briefest of moments to process, and then I’m running across the manicured lawn, chasing after Una as she acts like a one-man army. I’m out of breath by the time I catch up, but she isn’t. The girls are all breathing heavily, and Una is pacing, checking her watch every few seconds, occasionally shooting a straggler.

  Finally, a black SUV pulls up to the gate, and the passenger window rolls down revealing Sasha’s stoic expression. “This isn’t the plan,” he says flatly.

  “No. This is Anna’s plan.”

  Sasha glances at me before giving a reluctant nod. I know this isn’t the way they work, but I’m grateful for them both right now. I’m grateful that they’re willing to do this for me because I know deep down that this is what I need. I need salvation every bit as much as these young girls. How can I possibly deny them that?

  60

  Anna

  I pound my
fists over the punchbag, and though it usually calms me, today it does nothing. My mind is consumed with thoughts of those girls, of what they’ve been through. They’re staying in one of Nero’s apartments, and we’re working on getting them back to their families, but some have no family. They’re just lost, abandoned. But I won’t abandon them. Rafael saved me, he loved me, and he taught me what it was to be valued. I want to do that for them. I want to heal them, hold them, take away the pain I know they feel. I wish I could shoulder it for them because I’m older, more accustomed to the feeling. They’re so young, and yet so strong.

  At least she’s dealing with women even if Una is a little prickly. I didn’t have that luxury. A small smile touches my lips as I remember the first time I ever met Rafael. I was tied to a chair, distraught at having nearly escaped and failed. The second I looked into those dark eyes, I knew he was a monster, and I hated him instantly. He was like the devil in disguise, the ink crawling up his neck and over his hands the only clue to the man beneath that expensive suit. Little did I know it was actually the other way around, that tattooed exterior hid one of the best men I’ve ever known. When I had no one and nothing, he saved me and dragged me into the light.

  I can’t offer those girls that, because what Rafe gave me was a soul-deep bond. I try to push him from my mind, but now more than ever, I can’t. Even after months away from him, I still feel the ache at the very depths of myself. I’m surviving and doing what I feel I have to, but it’s as though a fundamental part of me is missing—like it’s been torn out. I want to hate him for it, but I can’t. And that’s the worst thing, to hurt and long for someone, to suffer this kind of loss without being able to pinpoint a reason, a definitive factor as to why. He let his enemies tear us apart. He gave up on us when I never could.